


What's In A Name?

by rain_sleet_snow



Series: My Family (And Other Dinosaurs) [12]
Category: Primeval
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-31
Updated: 2009-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-09 21:38:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3265259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rain_sleet_snow/pseuds/rain_sleet_snow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon Lyle gets an invitation to coffee and a serious shock, and experiences some confusion of the name variety.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's In A Name?

            Jon Lyle was slightly surprised when Lester invited him round for coffee. The man had been avoiding him behind a mask of sardonic politeness for days, and he wondered if Lester was as shaken by that Friday night as he himself had been.

 

            It just happened, he kept thinking. It just happened. But even if it was just a one-night-stand, it was a hell of a good one-night-stand.

 

            He’d been bloody glad Lester’s- no, James’s- daughter, Liz, was out of the way. That would have been awkward in the extreme. It was also obvious that the room with LIZ painted on it in three-inch-high blue letters was hers- and it was _definitely_ within hearing range of Lester’s room. Lyle restrained a wince. Thank God she had been out.

 

            And now Lester had invited him round to coffee, which was odd if it had been nothing more than a one-night stand. Jon had been in two minds about whether to go, the two minds being Common Sense and Thumbs (known to other people as ‘gut feeling’, but Jon trusted his thumbs more than he did his intestines) and Thumbs had said yes and Common Sense had said no. Of course, he’d gone with Thumbs and accepted the invitation.

 

            This was why he was now walking towards a very large and modern block of flats which seemed to be mostly composed of glass, and why he was more on edge than he liked to admit. He pushed open one of the doors, and went up to the concierge, who looked very sour. He summoned up a charming smile. “Hi. I’m here to see James Lester.”

 

            The concierge pressed an intercom button. “Hello, this is the lobby, visitor for James Lester. Hello. _Hello_.” She released the intercom button and shook her head. “Sorry. He’s not in. Was there a message?”

 

            “No,” Lyle said, feeling unaccountably disappointed, “wait- just tell him I came round but he wasn’t here. Jon Lyle. Jon _without_ an h.”

 

            _Jon without an h_ , the receptionist mouthed mockingly in a caricature of his words, evidently affronted by the insult to her spelling, as she wrote it down on a yellow Post-it note. Lyle didn’t care. John was not his name, Jon was, and if he had to tell people how to spell it that was their problem.

 

            “Thanks,” Lyle said without meaning it, and turned and nearly collided with rescue in the form of Liz Lester.

 

            “Hi!” Liz said cheerfully, taking in the visitor with a glance and seizing the moment. “Lieutenant Lyle, isn’t it? Here to see Dad?”

 

            She looked slightly odd. Her hair was sweat-damp and messy, and there was a large splodge of mud on her leg, but her shorts and the black t-shirt embellished with a white T. Rex head and the words ‘Bite Me’ were perfectly clean, as was the navy-blue hoodie tied around her waist. She was wearing rather muddy black boots, which he instantly recognised as the CCF variety. “Yeah,” Lyle said.

 

            “He texted me,” Liz explained, brandishing her phone. “He says he’s really sorry, but Nicky –my little brother Nicky- he’s broken his wrist, the prat. Mum’s stuck in a meeting with the Home Secretary, so Dad went. Mum’ll join them soon, and then Dad can come home.” She sighed. “Anyway, are you coming up to the flat? He’ll be maybe forty-five minutes, maybe an hour, so... On the other hand, I, unlike Ditzy, _can_ make coffee, so don’t worry I won’t poison you.”

 

            “I- sure,” Lyle said, caught off balance. “Are you ever going to forgive Ditzy for the coffee?”  


            “About the same time he forgives me for drilling his ears in with the Bloody Nightmare,” Liz shrugged, and grinned. She was aware that Ditzy had been cross about the very loud bang and the very little warning he’d had, but not that cross. It was just teasing.

 

            Lyle grinned back, and followed Liz into the lift. She punched the number six with a finger and leant against the mirror, apparently staring at the wall.

 

            He gestured at her boots. “You do CCF, right?”

 

            She looked at him, distracted from her staring, and smiled. “Yeah. Every Monday. I’d have been back a lot later, but there was an accident.”  


            “What happened?” Lyle asked. This sounded like a promising line of conversation.

 

            Liz rolled her eyes and pulled an eloquent face. “New and clumsy cadet dislocated an arm, God only knows how. Partially his own stupidity, partially his NCO’s fault. Luckily, I wasn’t in charge of him.”

 

            “You’re a NCO?”

 

            Liz grinned proudly. “Cadet Sergeant. Here we are. I’m sorry you got caught by Miss Monterey, she’s as spiteful as she looks.”

 

            Lyle made an enquiring noise.

 

            Liz snorted. “Why do you think Jenny ended up letting me tag along last month? If I could’ve got the spare keys off Miss Monterey, I would have gone straight home instead of to the ARC... here we go.”

 

            They left the lift and walked along the corridor for a short way before Liz stopped at a door, wrestled with the keys briefly and pushed the door open. She indicated the flat. “After you.”

 

            Lyle stepped into the flat, looking around him as Liz followed, shutting the door behind her. He remembered absolutely nothing of the actual flat from the previous week, since he had been busy with other things, but it was a nice one. Spacious, with one big room comprising living-room, kitchen, and dining-room, as well as the bedrooms which were on a small corridor off the main space and a tiny study full of shelves with books and files on them, as well as a distinctly modern Wi-Fi arrangement. Liz took off her boots at the door and shelved them on a shoe rack, next to a pair of bright green Converses and extremely smart business shoes; her hoodie she untied from around her waist and flung in the general direction of the sofa, and her bag was dumped carelessly on the floor.

 

            “Please. Make yourself at home. Coffee? Tea?” Liz asked, padding through to the kitchen in thick grey hiking socks and filling the kettle.

 

            “Coffee, please.” Lyle shoved his hands into his pockets and looked at his toes –he’d taken off his shoes; it was so damned _immaculate_ in the flat, despite the presence of a teenaged girl- then spotted some photographs on the mantelpiece and went over to have a look. There was a formal one of Liz and her father, both looking perhaps two or three years younger, taken by a photographer who had the blessed luck to catch Liz and her father sharing a sideways glance that said ‘I _know_ you’re up to something’ and ‘who, me?’ all in one moment. He noticed one of a boy in a hospital bed with a drip in his hand and eyes like Liz’s, and a smaller boy at the seaside with a toothy grin and huge blue eyes screwed up against the bright sun. Then there was one of someone who looked like Lester’s brother, his arm casually slung over the shoulder of a woman with blonde hair and strong bones. There was also one large formal one in a black wooden frame; this was a family picture, which surprised Lyle, but it looked to be several years old. On the right stood a pretty woman with soft features but a very intense stare, dark hair and brown eyes, dressed in a blue shift dress and amber necklace, whose hand rested lightly on the shoulder of a boy sitting down, who resembled the pretty woman in colouring and had extremely pale skin and dark circles under his eyes. Another boy stood next to him, smaller, a sweet kid with blue eyes like Lester’s, an enquiring expression and straight dark hair, and Liz was on the other side; plainly younger, with her hair in two plaits tied with ribbon and wearing a purple dress, about which she did not look best pleased, but which suited her. She also had a hand resting on the sitting boy’s shoulder, but her stance was more overtly protective than her mother’s. Lester –James?- was standing behind her, hands clasped behind his back, feet slightly apart, and looking quizzically at the camera.

 

            “Sugar? Milk?” came the yell from the kitchen.

 

            “Two sugars, no milk, please!” Lyle yelled back. There was no date on the photo, but he’d put Liz’s age here at about ten. Maybe five years ago? What about the boys, how old were they? And why was the boy in the middle sitting down when all the others were standing?

 

            Coffee arrived in a plain white mug, handed to him by Liz who peered over his shoulder to see what he was looking at. “Oh, the family photo. Ha.”

 

            She reached out and took it down off the mantelpiece, examining it critically. “This’s really out of date. It was taken years ago. I was- what, nine, ten? Ten, yeah. Before Dad took the job at the ARC and before Mum and Dad got divorced... That’s Mum in the blue dress. She and I don’t get along well. Something to do with dresses and pink and how I don’t wear either of them unless forced. _At knifepoint_.” Lyle smiled, and so did Liz. “In the middle, that’s Jamie, and that’s Nicky next to him. Nicky’s the one who broke his wrist.”

 

            “Was Jamie ill?” Lyle enquired.

 

            “He has leukaemia. He’d just gone out of remission for the... the second time, yeah.” Liz put it back. “Nicky’s a pain, but Jamie’s- promise not to lynch me?” She grinned sheepishly.

 

            “Why would I lynch you?”

 

            “For being _cutesy_.” Liz’s expression turned sour, as if she’d just bitten down on a slice of lemon, and Lyle couldn’t help but laugh.

 

            “I won’t,” he promised, grinning. He liked Liz.

 

            Liz sipped her coffee, and said simply: “Jamie’s a star.”

 

            Lyle made a mildly agreeing noise, the kind you make when agreement is appropriate but you don’t know the person, and then decided to change the subject. He tapped the picture with the man who looked like Lester’s brother in it. “This your uncle?”

           

            “Mm-hm. Uncle Theo. And that’s his wife with him, Auntie Alison.” She took a gulp of the coffee. “I’m sorry, I must be boring you- hey, that’s not yours, is it?”

 

            _Miss Independent, Miss Self-Sufficient, Miss- Keep-Your-Di-i-stance_ , someone’s phone sang.

 

            “No, no, I’ve got mine-“ Lyle fished through his pockets and produced the small, battered phone, which wasn’t playing.

 

            Liz, apparently fighting surprise, dove for her bag and pulled out her phone. She pressed call, and the ringtone cut off abruptly. “Hi, Dad. Is Mum the- _no_! No, don’t you _dare_ give her the phone! I wasn’t asking because I wanted to talk to her! Dad, stop winding me up! Look, if Mum’s there you get on a bus right now and get here, because I’m boring your poor guest to death- yeah, sure.” Liz’s eyebrows had shot up, but she handed the phone to Lyle and wandered tactfully away to her room.

 

            “Hello, Le- Ja-“ Lyle found himself turning pink, and cursed himself. Why couldn’t he just pick a name and stick to it, for God’s sake?

 

            “James will do fine.” Lester’s voice was wry. _Oh, damn him, he finds this funny_ , Lyle thought.

 

            “Listen, Lieute- may I call you Jon?”

 

            “You have before,” Lyle replied automatically, and then cringed as inexorable memory reminded him of exactly when Lester had called him Jon. _Oh clever, Lyle, very fucking clever_.

 

            “I suppose I have.” Lester cleared his throat, and Lyle wondered if he was beset by the same memories. “As I was saying. I’m sorry about this, L- Jon, but Nicky has broken his wrist- I imagine Liz told you... I’m just catching a bus, I should be there in fifteen minutes, unless you have something else you need to do.”

 

            “Wha- no. No, it’s fine. I hope your son’s all right,” Lyle added.

 

            Lester sighed. “He’s fine. Nothing will cure him of recklessness, though, I’m afraid, not even falling off a wall. I’ll see you in a quarter of an hour, then.”

 

            “See you then. Bye.”

 

            Lester disconnected the line and Lyle was left staring at a small mobile phone. James will do fine. A small smile twitched at a corner of his mouth, and then Liz breezed over. “All sorted?” she said enquiringly. “Only I need to change my ringtone. I think my girlfriend’s been messing with it.”

 

            She had taken the phone and turned away to fix the problem before Lyle had processed the last sentence. “Wait, your girlfriend?”  


            The girl tensed visibly, probably on instinct. “Uh-huh. The hoodie’s not just for show.” She picked up the hoodie she’d been wearing round her waist earlier from where it lay on the sofa and threw it at Lyle.

 

            Lyle caught it, unfolded it and turned it right way up in order to read the white writing on it. _LGBT: Definitely Not A Sandwich_ , it read. He almost laughed; maybe this would work out, after all.

 

            “Okay. Sorry,” he said, and put it back down again.

 

             “S’fine. I didn’t have you down as a homophobe, but still.” Liz tucked the phone into her pocket and went off in the direction of the kitchen again.

 

            Lyle noticed a strange book on the coffee table; a thick dark green A4-sized book. He picked it up. “Liz, what’s this?”  


            “What’s what?” came the muffled answer from the kitchen, where Liz was kneeling on the immaculate counter with her head in a cupboard, searching for something. “Biscuit?”  


            “This. And no thanks.” Lyle turned the book over in his hands. It was ring-bound.

 

            Liz extricated herself from the cupboard and glanced over her shoulder; her eyes widened, her jaw dropped and she all but fell backwards off the counter, landing in a graceless but uninjured heap on the kitchen floor with a packet of biscuits in her hand. “Christ, he left that out?”

 

            “Yeah. It was just on the coffee table. What is it?”  


            “It’s his sketchbook.” The girl propped herself against the counter, munching a biscuit. “Sure you don’t want one?” she asked, voice muffled by biscuit crumbs.

 

            “Actually...” Lyle took one, and nodded his thanks. “I didn’t know James did art.” Funny how easy it was to say the name now. It sounded right.

 

            “He does. Always has.” Liz took out another biscuit and then put the packet back. “He’s really good,” she added.

 

            Lyle paused awkwardly. “Can I-“

 

            “Take a look?” Liz completed, and looked straight into his eyes. Not hostile, or sarcastic, just measuring. Apparently he passed muster, because she shrugged. “Since it’s you, I’m sure he won’t mind.” She picked up her coffee mug again, and sipped slowly at it, staring into the middle distance again and munching on her biscuit.

 

            Since it’s you. What the hell did she mean by that? Looking sideways at her bland expression, Lyle suspected he would never find out. He flipped open the sketchbook, and went through it slowly, sometimes laughing or just looking. He’d no idea James could draw like this. After a while, Liz went away, but he didn’t really notice.

 

            He flipped over a page, and nearly dropped the book. “Fuck,” he breathed, and stared at the picture.

 

            It was... him. It was him, sleeping, utterly at peace. God. It was like... It wasn’t like looking at a photograph. A photograph was never taken with so much feeling. He heard Liz come out of her bedroom, but didn’t properly register it.

 

            Christ. He expected the him in the picture to yawn and stretch and smile lazily at the artist- which, in fact, had been what had happened.

 

            Liz appeared, and leaned on the counter, empty coffee cup between her hands. “Yeah. I know.”  


            “You _know_?”

 

            “Hell, yes.” Liz smiled. “And I don’t care. Like I said, the hoodie’s not just for show. I did wonder if you and he were part of the reason he and Mum got divorced, and then I got a grip and realised it was way too recent. Right?”

 

            Stupefied, he could only nod.

 

            “Just to make one thing clear.” Liz went over to the kettle, and put her mug down, then turned to face Lyle, her eyes hard and unyielding as amber. “You break his heart, and _I_ will break _you_. I will find a way, trust me. Clear?”

 

            “Crystal!” he answered hastily.

 

            She laughed, and suddenly looked a lot friendlier. “Good. More coffee, Lieutenant?”

 

            “Yes, thanks,” he said, feeling as if he’d been let off the hook. “Oh, and Liz?”  


            “Mm?” She filled the kettle.

 

            “My name’s Jon.”

 


End file.
